


"I didn't know where else to go."

by CarnivalMirai



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal covers it up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Self-Defense, Someone Help Will Graham, Will kills someone in self defence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnivalMirai/pseuds/CarnivalMirai
Summary: Tears and blood stain Will’s face, his breaths laboured and shaky as he gazes up at Hannibal with lost, pleading eyes. He’s soaked to the bone, water dripping from his curls as his clothes stick to his body. Hannibal has never seen Will look so vulnerable.“I didn’t know where else to go.”Or: Will kills someone in self defence, and he can only think of one person to go to for help-- Hannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 478





	"I didn't know where else to go."

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my thread [here!](https://twitter.com/CarnivalMirai/status/1303323642105933826?s=20)  
> As per usual... not beta read 😂😅

_ Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.  _

Will tiredly removed his glasses and rubs his eyes, sighing heavily as he folds away his files. It’s just gone midnight. He’d been working for hours upon hours, yet was no closer to cracking this case open. He relents with a sigh, sliding his files into his bag as he stands up to leave the office. 

His car is close to empty too— so Will makes a mental note to stop for petrol on the way home. It’s another task to add to his already tiring day, but it can’t be left until tomorrow, so begrudgingly, Will gets into his car and heads for the petrol station just off the highway. 

The rain pours as he drives. It’s foggy, too, and he can barely see beyond his headlights. Will is lost deep in thought as he drives, and he knows that as soon as he gets home, he’s going to be out like a light. Going over these case files is not only emotionally draining, but physically draining too. But… Jack Crawford, unfortunately, insists on Will wrapping his head around them so tightly that he refuses to stop until each of these cases has been cracked open. 

Will is the only one on the road for miles. It’s getting to that time of the night where the roads are silent, and Will finds himself glancing in his rear view mirror more often than he probably needs to. 

The petrol station is lit up only by a single lamp. By the time Will gets there, the kiosk is already closed. He sits in his car for a moment, sighing before he steps out of the car to fill up the tank. A sudden eeriness engulfs him as soon as he gets out of the car, and Will finds himself glancing around, taking in his surroundings as he picks up the petrol pump. 

The rain chucks and pours, soaking Will right to the bone as he fills up his car, watching the numbers on the reader go up and up. A kick of a can startled him, but he pays it no mind, eager to just fill his car and leave as quickly as possible. 

Will can’t help but shake the feeling that he’s being watched, however. He can just feel the burning of eyes on his back, can feel the piercing gaze of…  _ something.  _ It’s just paranoia, he tells himself as he puts the petrol pump away and pulls out his card. The quicker he pays, the quicker he can get home to his dogs. 

His gut instinct is right. 

An arm wraps around his neck from behind, taking him from behind as he pulls open his car door. “I wonder what you’ve got for me…” a voice grunts as a hand digs into his pockets. Panic rises in his chest as a blade presses to his neck, breaths laboured and heart racing as he grabs at the arm around his neck. He paws and claws as he struggles for breath, the arm around his neck tightening as the blade threatens to break his skin. “Stop  _ struggling!”  _

He can feel the man’s free hand, frantic as it digs into each of his pockets looking for— a wallet? A phone? Will doesn't know. His head is beginning to cloud over, and he can’t even hear himself think. The more he struggles the more he can feel the blade press deeper into his neck, and he can barely cry out as a line of crimson trickles down the blade of the knife.

Will needs to get out  _ now.  _

He struggles and struggles, heart racing in his chest as he tries to break out of his grasp. The knife cuts deeper as he breaks free, his breaths laboured and heavy as his trembling hand reaches for the gun resting on the centre console of his car. Hands grab him again, dragging him back before he can pick up his gun.

Will manages to knock the knife away with his flailing, but that only causes the man to tighten his grip on his neck. He gasps and chokes for air, wriggling himself free. It’s literally a cathartic breath of fresh air when he breaks free. He’s quick enough to scramble and pick up the knife, and it’s like a switch inside him flips. 

In a blind rage, Will shoves his attacker to the floor and plunges the blade into the man.

He doesn’t stop. 

Blood splatters and splatters with every plunge of the knife into his chest, staining Will’s body and face. He still doesn’t stop. Even as blood pours and stains his clothes, even as his hand strains with his grip on the knife, he keeps going. 

Until he comes back to himself. 

Horror crosses Will’s face as the knife drops from his hand, and what he’s done finally sinks in. He chokes on a sob, his hands trembling as fear courses through his body. Will doesn’t know what to do. 

He scrambles to his feet, absolutely mortified as tears flow down his face. Will’s entire body is paralysed with terror as he stares at the bloody mess that is his victim, and then down at his bloodstained hands and his bloodstained clothes. 

Will rushes back to his car and clambers in. He fumbles with his car keys to start the engine and speeds away. His hands couldn’t stop shaking as he drove, tears streaming down his face as he tried to focus on the road. 

Will doesn’t know where to go or who to turn to. The thought of reporting this made him sick to his stomach— he doesn’t even know how many times he stabbed the man. All he can hear is his heart galloping in his chest, and the blood rushing in his ears. 

He needs help, and only one person comes to mind. 

*** 

Hannibal had just finished cleaning the dishes and wiping down the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Not once, not twice, but multiple times, as if whoever was there was frantic. Brows creased, he saunters to the front door. And when he opens it, he does  _ not  _ expect to see Will, covered in blood. 

Tears and blood stain Will’s face, his breaths laboured and shaky as he gazes up at Hannibal with lost, pleading eyes. He’s soaked to the bone, water dripping from his curls as his clothes stick to his body. Hannibal has never seen Will look so vulnerable. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” Whispers Will, voice strained as he swallows dryly. Hannibal’s expression softens, a pitiful half smile on his face as he silently steps aside to let him in, and closes the door. 

Hannibal sits him down in the armchair in the kitchen and grabs a blanket from the airing cupboard to drape over his shoulders, then grabs a first aid kit from the kitchen drawer. 

“Tell me what happened.” Hannibal kneels one the floor in front of him, examining the wound on his neck and the blood covering his body. Will’s mouth falls open, but he hesitated to speak. Hannibal picks up on that immediately. “You came here because you trusted that I could help.” Hannibal says. “Or, at least, trusted that I would be able to provide comfort.” Will whimpers, eyes wet with tears again. 

“I killed someone…” Will tearfully admits, and the fact that those words just came out of his mouth, the fact that he’d openly admitted what just happened made him feel sick to his stomach, made him feel disgusting. Hannibal listens, completely unphased as he dabs the cut on Will’s neck with some antiseptic. 

“H-he attacked me… and… something just… happened and I— I—“ Will sucks in a shaky breath as panic begins to rise again, and his chest tightens. Hannibal hushes him, his thumb brushing across his cheek. 

“You’re safe here, Will.” He promises, peeking the back of a large bandage off to cover the cut on Will’s neck. “Tell me exactly where.” Will lets out a shaky breath again, hands squeezing into fists. 

“T-the gas station j-just off highway thirty six… j-junction ten…” Hannibal nods and stands up from the floor. 

“Wait here for me. I’ll be back.” Hannibal doesn’t give Will a chance to protest, or ask what he’s doing. He quickly leaves the kitchen, pace quick. Will lets out a shaky sigh of relief as he dries his tears. It feels good to tell Hannibal what happened. But the reality of what he did is harrowing. Facing the consequences of what he did is daunting. And suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach again, as he hears the front door slam shut. 

***

Hannibal climbs into his car, murder suit in the back, along with other cleaning supplies. He has to get to the petrol station quickly, before someone else does— if they haven’t already. 

He pulls out of his driveway and sets off for the petrol station. It’s just gone one a.m, and he knows that normally, that petrol station is quiet. He just hopes it’s quiet enough that no one has noticed the dead body lying on the ground. He’ll have to ask Will to properly explain what happened, but that can wait. For now, Hannibal has to clean up. 

There’s no one else on the highway. Unsurprising, considering it’s almost half one in the morning. The petrol station is dark when Hannibal gets there, thankfully. Hopefully, dark enough that no one will see what Hannibal is about to do. He parks his car around the back of the kiosk and climbs out, opening the trunk to retrieve his plastic suit. 

Practiced movements pull him into the suit as he zips it up. There’s no way he can get rid of the blood that would without a doubt shine through with luminol, but he can make it look like nothing ever happened. 

The tarpeline is first. He’s calm as he wraps the body in the plastic sheet, always keeping an eye out for anyone one passing bye. Luckily though, the street lamp is so dim, anyone just passing by wouldn’t see a thing. He carries the plastic wrapped body around the back to the trunk of the car and tosses it in, carelessly. 

Hannibal locates the knife easily. He picks it up, sighing at Will’s bloody fingerprints smeared all over it. His gloved thumb caresses the handle as he wonders what on earth possessed Will to stab someone twenty times in the chest. He has no time to ponder over it, however— there's still blood on the floor that needs to be washed away. Or, at least, washed away to the naked eye.

The knife gets tossed into the trunk of his car along with the body, and Hannibal pulls out a bottle of bleach. It’s normally not his preferred method of cleaning up, but Will has made quite the mess in comparison to the mess Hannibal normally makes himself. 

***

Will sits for what feels like hours, waiting for Hannibal to return. His whole body feels numb under the blanket as he sinks back into the armchair. The loud tick of the clock is so prominent that Will swears it's going to drive him insane— if he’s not already insane.

He draws his knees up to his chest and folds his arms over his knees, fingernails digging and clawing at his skin as he buries his face in his arms. A shuddery breath leaves his lips. He’s still shaking all over. His breaths are still laboured, and his heart is still racing. Will chokes on another sob. He desperately tries not to think about what he did— or what Hannibal is doing now, but  _ god,  _ he just  _ killed  _ a man. 

Will’s chest tightens with anxiousness, his head cloudy with confusion as he waits for Hannibal. He doesn’t even know what possessed him to come here in the first place— to the home of his  _ therapist.  _ But no matter the reason, he at least feels safe here. 

Hannibal returns after what feels like hours. He hears the front door close, and he lifts his head, biting his lip as he waits for Hannibal to come into the kitchen. When he does, he kneels in front of Will and grasps his hands, gazing up at him with tender eyes. 

“Where did you go?” Will dares to ask. 

“I cleaned up.” Hannibal says. “Disposed of the body, disposed of the knife, cleaned up the blood. No one will ever know what you did.” Hannibal is so calm about it, but Will chokes on a breath. 

“How can you be so sure?” Will asks, his voice barely a whisper as he sniffles. Hannibal’s expression steels a little as his grip on Will’s hands tightens. 

“You shouldn’t ask questions you’re not prepared to hear answers to.” He says firmly— by what the hell does that  _ mean?  _ Hannibal speaks again before Will can protest. “Let's get you into the shower.” Hannibal says, one hand caressing Will’s face. Silently, Will nods and allows Hannibal to pull him up off the arm chair. 

Will follows Hannibal upstairs to the master bedroom ensuite. He glances around Hannibal’s pretentious decor— he's never seen Hannibal’s bedroom before, but of course it matches the rest of his ostentatious aesthetic. 

He desperately wants to ask Hannibal what the hell he meant by  _ don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to hear answers to.  _ But he’s so emotionally drained at the moment. His limbs are practically useless as Hannibal pushes the blanket off his shoulders. 

“May I undress you?” If Will had the energy to, he would shake his head out of self consciousness. But Will does not have the energy. So he nods. Hannibal smiles comfortingly and nimble fingers undo the buttons of his blood stained shirt. “We’ll have to burn these.” Murmurs Hannibal as he peels the shirt off of Will’s body to reveal his toned, lithe body. Will nods as Hannibal strips him down and encourages him into the tub. “Will you be alright while I get you something to sleep in?” Will sinks into the water and nods. So Hannibal stands up and leaves the bathroom to grab Will a change of clothes. 

Will’s skin itches with guilt, and as soon as Hannibal leaves the bathroom, he feels sick to his stomach again. There’s just something so comforting and protective about Hannibal’s presence, something that makes Will feel safe and assured. 

Hannibal returns, setting some clothes and a towel on the bathroom counter. He reaches for the shower head and turns on the water. 

“Tip your head back for me.” 

“You don’t have to help me.” Murmurs Will, but Hannibal will take no protests. 

“Let me take care of you, Will.” He says. “Tip your head back for me.” Wordlessly, Will obeys and tips his head back, leaning against the back of the tub. Hannibal rolls up his shirt sleeves and reaches for the shampoo on the side of the tub. 

“I hope you’re not using something stupidly expensive.” Will tries to joke, but it comes out as an exhausted murmur instead. Nevertheless, Hannibal smiles. 

“Unfortunately for you,” he begins, squeezing some into his hand, “I only own the best.” Hannibal’s hands card through Will’s curls as he begins to massage the shampoo into his hair. 

“Blood looks good on you.” Hannibal says as his thumb brushes away the specks of blood staining Will’s face. 

“If you’re trying to make me feel better it isn’t working.” Mumbles Will, unable to help himself as his face nuzzles into the palm of Hannibal’s hand. 

“Just an observation.” Hannibal doesn’t know how to breach the topic of Will stabbing a man twenty times in the chest. So he just comes straight out with it. “You stabbed him over twenty times, Will.” Hannibal murmurs lowly. Will stiffens beneath his hands, throat suddenly dry as he bites his lip, not daring to look at Hannibal. “What happened, Will?” He asks again. “Once would have been more than enough.” 

“I don’t know.” Will croaks. “I was so… scared… I don’t know what happened… something just came over me and I— I…” Will sucks in a shaky breath. “I feel sick.” Whispers Will. “I feel like my hands are still covered in blood and no matter how much I scrub them they’re…” Hannibal’s hand runs up and down his back as Will lets out a trembling sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to block it out of his head. “What’s wrong with me?” It’s not normal to stab someone so many times. Even when you  _ are  _ being attacked. It felt like he was in a totally different state of mind. 

He feels tears prick his eyes again, but Hannibal’s thumb quickly sweeps them away, his touches lingering on Will’s face. “We’ll figure it out.” 

***

Will doesn't have enough energy to protest when Hannibal starts drying him off. 

“Are you alright to change while I make you something to drink?” Will nods, and Hannibal stands up from where he’s kneeling on the bathroom floor. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable on the bed.” Hannibal says, nodding to the bed in the master bedroom. “I’ll be back shortly.” 

As soon as Hannibal pulls away however, Will suddenly feels empty and unfulfilled again. God, he’s never normally so affected by other people’s presence. With a deflated sigh, he musters enough energy to slip into the clothes Hannibal has lent him. The briefs are just a bit big, hanging low on his hips, and the silk pyjama pants are a bit long. But the warmth of the sweater engulfs him in a sense of security as the cashmere wool brushes over his skin. It’s a simple red sweater, long in the sleeves and big at the neck, but still, Will feels safe in it. Begrudgingly, he clambers onto the master bed and makes himself comfortable while he waits for Hannibal to come back.

Hannibal’s sheets are silky smooth and his mattress is firm, but not too hard. Will covers himself with the duvet and sits up against the headboard, knees pulled to his chest as a shaky breath escapes his lips. He swallows thickly— where the hell did Hannibal go earlier? Or rather… what did he do? Will thinks he knows the answer to both of those questions, but those answers make him want to vomit. He still wants to know. 

Hannibal returns not long later with some herbal tea. 

“I hope herbal tea is suited to your tastes.” He says, handing Will the mug. “Would you like to be alone?” He asks as Will nods his thanks. 

“Stay with me.” Will mumbles quietly. “Please?” Hannibal stares, surprised, then smiles. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment, then.” Will nods, and watches as Hannibal heads to the bathroom, presumably to change out of his suit. Who knew Hannibal ever wore anything but a suit? But as he’d predicted, Hannibal re-emerges from the bathroom in silk pants and a jumper before joining Will on the bed. 

They sit in silence, and Will can’t help but ponder about what Hannibal said to him when he got back. He thinks about it. And he thinks and thinks and thinks. Hannibal disposing the body, cleaning up, being so fucking calm about covering up a  _ murder…  _

_ “You shouldn’t ask questions you’re not prepared to hear answers to.”  _ Will repeats as the realisation dawns upon him. “That’s what you said to me.” He says, pausing for a moment. The thought of Hannibal as a murderer though… isn’t half as terrifying as he imagined it would be. Perhaps it’s because he’s a murderer too. But he doesn’t even know what else to say. “Do you have something to tell me?” 

“That depends.” Hannibal says. “Do you want to hear it?” Stiffly, Will nods. 

“How do you know no one will know what I did?” Will asks, not even daring to look at Hannibal. 

“Today is not the first time I’ve covered up a crime. And nor will it be the last.” Will’s hands ball into fists as a breath gets knocked out of his lungs. 

Surgical experience, access to police cases, and now, confirmation that Hannibal  _ can  _ and  _ has  _ and  _ will  _ cover up murders… it makes sense. Will’s heart skips a beat at his epiphany, his blood running cold as he sucks in a heavy breath.

_ The Chesapeake Ripper.  _

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Will squeaks. “The Chesapeake Ripper.” Hannibal’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“What would you do, should the answer corroborate your hypothesis?” Hannibal asks, and honestly… Will… wouldn’t do anything. It’s always been  _ Jack  _ who has been after the ripper. Will doesn’t feel disgusted or guilty for having this information. Rather… he feels reassured by it. Even with the confirmation that Hannibal isn’t the man Will first thought he was… he still feels oddly safe. They’re the same, and suddenly, Will feels less alone. “You should get some rest.” Hannibal says, making a to get off the bed to give Will some space before Will even gets a chance to answer. “You can sleep here tonight, I’ll take the guest room.” 

“Wait,” whispers Will, teaching to grab the sleeve of his sweater, “will you… will you stay with me?” He asks again. “Spend the night with me.” Hannibal looks at him, somewhat surprised. “I feel safer with you…” Hannibal can only smile as Will shuffles down the bed to tuck himself in. 

Will’s whole body sinks into the plush mattress as the silk duvet covers him like a weighted blanket. Hannibal too, sinks down into the sheets and pulls the covers up. 

“Even with what I told you?” Hannibal asks, turning on his side to face Will as one hand comes to cup Will’s cheek. Stiffly, Will nods as Hannibal’s thumb sweeps across the top of his cheekbone. Will huffs.

“We’re one and the same.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to check out my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/CarnivalMirai) where I shitpost and post threadfics and just scream about Hannibal!


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